08. Destination - Unspecified
CALIFORNIA [PENDING]
0700 HOURS
UNKNOWN LOCATION

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The majority of the car ride was spent in a contradicting silence: comfortable for him, uncomfortable for me. His right hand sat idly atop the gear shift, while the other kept a sturdy grip on the steering wheel. Every now and then, when I was confident his gaze was locked firmly on the desolate roads ahead of us, I would steal a few glimpses in an attempt to figure out his story by drilling my eyes into the side of his head.

It was futile in the end; though we had been driving for at least two or more hours, speeding past the desert terrain of sunny California at alarming speeds, I hadn't managed to piece anything together from what I had witnessed earlier.

Nothing added up; the untimely appearance of this Russian madman who unconceivably knew my father, Ronan, and myself. The fact that Ronan seemed to know something about whatever it was that my father was a part of - if he was even a part of anything - and I was still shell shocked at my martial arts feat that I had managed to pull off.

I glanced down at my hands, palms face up, and tried to recall how I acted on instinct ― like I just knew what to do. The only self-defense training I ever got was the simple, logical moves my mother had taught me when she was alive. It was just easy stuff like using your elbow and aim for the nose, run when you see a gun. Not whatever that had been. And what had that memory been about?

It was hard to think that it was only a day ago that life had been close to relatively normal, but now that was taken from me too.

Already curled up into a ball in the passenger seat, I caved into myself more, so much that my stomach joints burned in protest. I didn't loosen my hold, settling my chin on top of my knees and staring out the window. Our surroundings had consisted of dry, arid land tinged with red from the embers of the sun, a few cars that had lost their way, and only Ronan's unspoken location to guide us.

Some part of me wanted to cry again, as pathetic as it seemed, but I was fresh out of tears. Instead, I opted for closing my eyes and willing the past to return.

It didn't work.

"Where are we going?" I asked for the unpteenth time, my voice nothing higher than a whisper. Ronan's eyes flitted to mine for a split second before refocusing on the road.

"We're almost there." he said instead of answering my question. With a fluid motion of the wrist, he sent the car turning to the left, veering right off the road and onto the sandy terrain.

I winced at the sudden bumpiness of the ride, finally unfurling my muscles and biting my lip. My joints protested in pain but almost immediately a different pain began and I bit my lip harder. Glancing down at my hand - whose redness had faded by a fraction - I swallowed down bile from the sight. The skin was already charred off, but at least the wound had stopped bleeding. It did nothing to apease the pain in it if I moved though.

I had been fine for the first hour because the pain had dulled into a numbness I was thankful for, but now it was almost searing, as if the wound awoke and remembered how much it fucking hurt. I feared that if I didn't treat it soon, Ronan might just chop it off on the spot.

I snuck another glance at the boy in question, watching as his eyes flitted across the area as if searching for something. I tried looking for something too, but I could only pick out sand and assorted cacti in the sunlight. Then suddenly, the car screeched to a stop.

Though I still had my seatbelt on, the force had me jolting forward and nearly choking myself on it. Shooting Ronan a nasty glare, I was met with the back of his head as he glanced in the opposite direction out his window.

"Thanks for the warning," I grumbled.

The sound of the doors unlocking resonated through the silence that followed, and soon Ronan was opening his door with haste and leaving me in the car. I quickly flung open my door and scrambled after him. Cradling my injured hand to my side, I scampered after his movements; for every footstep of his, I had to take about three to catch up.

I had to stop myself from slamming into Ronan's back when he stopped so abruptly, that not even a scuff of his heel in the sand could have warned me about the motion. Skidding to a stop, I blinked and glanced around. There was absolutely nothing, just dunes of sand as the wind blew particles all around. Behind us, the car was parked just a few feet away and there was no sign of anything. No buildings, no roads, no anything.

"I have a sinking feeling that you're going to just ditch me in the middle of the desert to die." I mused. Ronan shot a look over his shoulder before dropping onto one knee and sifting his palms through the sand. I quirked an eyebrow, wondering about his sanity when the sound of a click stopped the thought from flitting through.

Ronan's hand rested on a spot on the ground, where the click had resonated from, his hand hovering an inch above the sandy surface. He knelt closer, blowing on the surface until something underneath exposed itself and glittered in the early morning sunlight. Ronan's hand brushed off the remaining sand to reveal a metal hatch, the silver glinting in the sun and making me squint.

"Retina scanner initializing." A monotonous female voice emanated out of nowhere, making me jump. Upon closer examination, I realized it came from the hatch. It was no ordinary one; there was an advanced looking screen which glowed a bright green. Symbols and words on the screen were like a foreign language to me, though Ronan made it seem like plain English as he pressed several buttons on the device.

I stifled a gasp when a projection sparked into the air, coming from the screen. It was a holographic image of an eye, which Ronan turned to face with a stoic expression. Lights scanned his eyes from top to bottom until the holograph flickered out and back into the screen. The female voice returned in affirmation, "Retina scan complete. Identity confirmed. Welcome to sector four point two, region twenty seven, Agent Black."

The screen went black.

With a grunt, Ronan gripped the edges of the hatch wheel, pulling it to reveal a dark entrance heading below. Dusting his hands off his pants, he gestured to the hole and smirked, "After you, short stuff."

I took a few steps forward, peering into the hole to get a better glimpse, but it was black as the night. Swallowing nervously, I chuckled hoarsely, "Ha, you're kidding, right?"

Ronan just stared.

"Right." I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing I had no choice. Firmly grasping the rung of the ladder attached to the outskirts of the hole, I took one step down the stairway to hell. Already, it was proving to be difficult. I was using only one hand, and the stifling fear of falling to my death was making the task harder than it was.

"Any time now, princess." Ronan said. I glanced up to find him with a smug look, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. Though he looked bloodied and bruised, I couldn't help but admire the way the sun seemed to shine behind his head like a halo, showering him in light.

"I'm going, I'm going," I grumbled, tearing my gaze away and continuing down a few more rungs. By the time I felt like I was halfway down, Ronan decided to finally join me. He scaled the ladder easily; I could hear him getting closer to where I was but I was afraid that if I glanced up for confirmation I would end up falling the rest of the way.

"You know, this really isn't that hard." he mused from above, his husky voice sounding close.

"You're not the one with a wounded hand―" I snorted, finally glancing up.

Only to find myself staring at his ass.

My eyes widened as I felt my face burn - oh my God, was I checking him out - and I lost my focus, my hand slipping from the rung. The sensation of falling had me screaming; I thought I saw my life flashing before my eyes and I squeezed them shut tightly.

Only to open them just a half second later, finding myself sitting unscathed on the floor.

I glanced towards the ladder only to find Ronan just a few rungs away from the floor. I had been on the last step when I supposedly fell to my death.

My bad.

Ronan snorted at my pathetic feat, jumping off the rest of the way and landing agilely on the balls of his feet. I felt myself blushing once more, turning my head away from his line of sight.

Wherever we were, it was dark. Pitch black, to be more specific. My eyes blinked as I tried to adjust them to the darkness, but Ronan was already a step ahead like he always was and flicked a switch I didn't see before on the wall beside the ladder. There was a buzzing noise, and then the room was flooded with light.

I winced at the sudden brightness, covering my eyes with my arms until they adjusted. It was hard to fight the urge to hiss like a cat, but after the initial shock of the sudden brightness, I dropped my arms to my side and squinted at my new surroundings.

Inhaling sharply, I watched as the lights continued flickering on along the corridor until the entirety of the area was bright with the fluorescent lights overhead. Wherever we were, a bunker or an underground safegouse, it was spacious. The room was bathed in a neon blue from the lights and metal drawers protruded from the walls.

Towards the back was an entire shelf spanning from top to bottom in heavy artillery, from guns to knives. In the center of the room was a long, circular table protruding from the floor. The surface was a screen, showing several locations in the United States, and a few images of people I didn't recognize.

Along either side of the walls were screens, each showing a blue screen depicting the same symbol in each: a snake with its fangs hooked onto a rat, the same emblem I recognized on my father's note.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice sounding hollow and loud in the frail silence. There was no noise besides the whirring of the machines coming to life and the pitter patter of water somewhere behind the walls.

"A safehouse." Ronan replied. He walked to where I sat, holding out a muscled arm to help me up. I took it gratefully, letting him take the majority of my weight as I was hoisted to my feet.

"For your criminal escapades?"

"Why do you keep insisting that I'm the bad guy?"

"You threatened me with a gun, handcuffed me, and refused to tell me anything."

"You forgot to mention the crucial point that I saved your life on more than one occasion."

"Yes, but I wouldn't have been in any danger in the first place if you hadn't jumped in front of my fucking car in the middle of the night."

Ronan snorted, dropping my hand and wandering over to one of the screens. He pressed a button, making the screen flicker and the symbol fade away, replaced by a bland page asking for a password. A keyboard instantaneously appeared from inside the wall, sliding towards Ronan's direction. He typed the password quickly, and soon access was granted, redirecting to the home page with lots of files. He motioned for me to  join him then continued tapping away on the keyboard.

Cautiously, I made my way over, placing my good hand on the table and leaning in. Ronan dug his hand into his pockets, pulling out a piece of paper and flattening it in the space between us. It was the note my father had put in the vault, with yet another cryptic message. My view remained on the odd symbol, and I bit my lip.

"What does that stand for?" I pointed to the emblem and then gestured to the rest of the advanced screens in the room.

"It's the symbol for the group I work for." he replied curtly, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. The hue of the computer made his black eyes seem silver, the reflections of the screen clear in his irises.

"Group? Like, a terrorist group? Or, the mafia? Are you a drug dealer?" I questioned without pause.

With a sigh he dropped his hands from the board and spun around, leaning against the edge of the table with his arms crossed against his toned chest. He took a step in my direction, and I fought the urge to take a step back. He slouched down to my height so that his eyes were level with mine.

Ronan cocked his head to one side and murmured with a ferocity, "Listen, short stuff, I am not the bad guy. I'm not a terrorist, or a gang member, or a drug dealer," he leaned in close as his lips brushed against my ear. I shivered as the smell of his cologne wafted into my nose. He smelled like wood and gun smoke, with a hint of nicotine. "I'm an assassin."

When he didn't pull away, I felt my heart sputter. My hands found their way to his chest, shoving him away forcefully. "An assassin? You know, I thought those only existed in video games."

"Sorry to disappoint." Ronan shrugged, turning back to the screen.

That was it? That was the only explanation I was going to get?

"I work for a group called the Agency," Ronan continued without sparing me a glance, as if reading my mind. "We're a group of highly skilled, thoroughly trained combatists, and very elite. Not just anyone can join us. No one can even join unless they're invited or were born into it. We work for the government. It's sort of like an underground sector; no one knows about us except for high officials such as the executive branch and Congress. We're trained to take out any force that the government deems highly dangerous to the country; be it a person or an organization."

"You kill people for a living?" I took a small step away from him.

"The pay is good." he added as if an afterthought, the prospect of killing individuals seeming like nothing.

"You kill people." I accused, taking yet another step back.

"Only the fuck-ups."

"That's no excuse―"

Ronan finally peeled his gaze away from the screen, shooting me a dead look. "Our targets are foreign intellect, traitors to the country, people endangering the lives of millions. We make it seem like an accident; their deaths are never recorded or accounted for. It's like they just disappeared off the face of the planet. The members of the Agency live their lives in secrecy; no one even knows we exist. It's a lonely, fucked up life, Gwen. Do you really want to argue with me about this? Would you rather I kill innocent, naive girls like you?"

"Don't you," I swallowed. "Don't you feel any remorse for what you do? You're taking someone's life."

Something flashed through Ronan's expression, but it was a quick as it came. I couldn't pin the emotion down. "You learn to deal with it," he said with finality, and the discussion was over.

The silence was uneasy as I took several deep breaths, trying to wrap my head around his explanation. "The thing I don't understand," I started, "is what exactly does my father have to do with this?"

I hesitantly made my way back to him, scooping up the paper with my father's scrawled handwriting still etched into the note. His initials lay at the very bottom: L.R.

"Easy," Ronan smirked, finishing up the last of whatever he was typing, as the keyboard retracted back into the recesses of the wall. I glanced up at the screen, only to find several profiles enlarged on the screen.

I picked out Lachowski's smirk easily, pictures of him in other countries captured by grainy security cameras, a few of his henchman too, but it was the last photo that had me freezing up. The paper fell from my numb hands and landed quietly on the floor beside my feet as I stared open-mouthed at the man whose picture took up the right of the screen. Lucas Rogers, the caption read. Ronan placed his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and finished, "He's our leader."

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"This might sting a bit," Ronan warned me, and I bit my lip, tearing my gaze away from the sight. As soon as the alcohol made contact with my burn, I let out a cry of agony, feeling as if my entire hand was on fire. The pain was searing as I saw red and felt blood on my tongue as I bit hard into my lip.

Once Ronan was done disinfecting the wound, he took the roll of gauze from his side and began to wrap it around my hand with the expertise of someone whose dealt with treating wounds before. The wrapping was tight but secure and as his hand dropped from mine, I flexed it, feeling stiff. In all honesty, I actually felt nothing. I was numb all over as the pain settled into a dullness, apathetic and silent except for the quiet 'thank you' that slipped from my lips.

Ronan nodded, taking the towel at his side and wiping his hands off. We were sitting at the circular table in the center, where files and data information littered the screen in the table. I tried my best not to look at it, where I knew my father's face looked upwards, in fear of losing my shit for the umpteenth time in less than two days.

"You know, it's kind of pathetic how you survive an explosion yet you manage to burn yourself because of stupid naivety." I glared in his direction. "Anyway, it's your turn," he interjected. I glanced up in confusion. Ronan stood from his chair, turning around so that his back was facing me. He forcibly relaxed himself, rotating his shoulders before speaking again, "I want you to grab my left shoulder and pull it back as hard as you can."

"What?"

"You're not deaf, the last time I checked."

"I know, I know," I muttered in irritation, "I just don't feel comfortable."

"Gwen," he warned. The sound of my name rolling off his tongue made me bite my lip and I hopped off the stool, placing my hands gingerly on his shoulder. I could feel where the bone was missing from its socket, and the contours of his muscles made me blush. I was glad his back was turned so he wouldn't see.

"Ready?" I asked meekly. He nodded, and I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling back his shoulder with a small grunt. I heard the sound of his bones reconnecting; Ronan hadn't even made a sound of pain.

"Thanks," said he, rotating his shoulders once more, looking more relieved once the pain was gone.

"No problem." I croaked out, running a hand through my tangled hair. I would kill for a shower right now. "Is there anywhere I can freshen up?"

Ronan gestured to a hallway towards the back, hooking his thumb in the direction. "Should be at the end of that corridor."

"Thanks." I mumbled, shuffling towards the direction he pointed to. My hands skimmed the metal walls, the coldness seeping through what little warmth I had, and finally came to rest upon a door which I opened hesitantly.

I blew a sigh of relief as soon as I stepped through the threshold and into the small, dimly lit room. Finally away from the shocking revelations just behind the steel door, I fell back against it, my back sliding against the cold metal as I slid to the ground with my eyes shut tight. Holding my face in my hands, I quavered slightly in my spot and exhaled shakily.

My father was an assassin.

Did Mom know?

It couldn't have been anything short of fate that I ran into Ronan - nearly in the literal sense. Despite his callous, cold exterior, I knew that he had vital information that I needed to understand if I was going to find my dad. There was also the undeniable fact of Lachowski, who had escaped our clutches and ran off, probably plotting another way to annihilate me. But why?

I fiddled with the skeleton key, the golden chain it was connected to warm against the skin of my neck. My fingers brushed against it up and down as it soothed me, and soon I felt relatively normal. My head was less lightheaded and dizzy from all the new information; I rose from my spot, joints cracking as I stretched to full height, and went to examine the bathroom.

It was a small space, with only the necessities like a toilet, sink, shower, and mirror. Wandering over to the sink, I grimaced at my reflection in the glass opposite my face. Grimy, sweaty, and bloody, I turned on the faucet to wash away the remnents of the dirt and the memories. As soon as the cold water splashed against my cheeks, I felt myself relax further as cleaned myself off. It was a little difficult to accomplish primarily because I was just using one hand, but eventually I was clean again. The paleness of my skin glowed in the fluorescent lights overhead, making me look even more flushed than usual.

There was a knock at the door - two simple, curt raps on the metal. I stole a towel from a silver rack hanging limply beside the sink, wiping my face dry and opening the door quickly after. The door swung open to reveal Ronan leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chests as his obsidian eyes roamed my own face, as if searching for something.

I fidgeted, throwing the towel off to the side so I could change my line of sight from him. "You knocked?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could muster.

"There's something you should see." Ronan jerked his chin in the direction of the main room. Underneath the dim lighting of the corridors, shadows danced across teh features of his face, illuminating his curved lips while hiding the depths of his eyes. Tearing my gaze away, I nodded and motioned for him to lead the way.

As soon as made it back to the main room, each and every screen was lit with the same image. Only when I took a step further did I realize that it wasn't just a picture, but rather a video. Ronan floated ahead to the circular table, and I took a spot slightly behind him, standing on my toes to see over his shoulder. Damn his height.

The boy pressed play on the screen, and an image of a woman appeared. Her ruby lips were pursed as she held a silver microphone up to her mouth, her gloved hand curled around the base. Dressed in a maroon jacket and a rather large hat that seemed too warm for an autumn season, her lips parted to speak. "I'm Meredith Prior, here at Channel Five News. I'm at the scene; standing right behind me," she gestured the familiar building just yards behind. "is the California State Bank, where SWAT teams and policemen are currently sifting through the rubble for any signs of survivors, and to ultimately find the cause of the explosion. Sources are saying the fire began in the boiler room, though authorities are still trying to figure out how. Could this not have been an accident, but a planned detonation? We'll turn to Kathy now as she interviews a few spectators who have caught the scene unfolding with their own eyes."

The video cut to another woman, whose blonde tresses cascaded down her shoulders and floated around in the wind, smacking into her face every now and then. With a bright smile that seemed all too fake, she spoke into her own microphone, "Thank you, Meredith. Katherine Helbeig reporting at the scene of the crime. I have with me here, a bank accountant who worked at the bank, Mr. Albert Carroway. Mr. Carroway, you along with other lucky people, managed to escape the explosion. Can you give us your insight on what happened?"

"Oh, certainly." Albert's wrinkled features appeared beside the anchorwoman, his lips curled into a frown. "It was no accident, I'll assure you. There was this man: he was Russian and young, but he was a lunatic, I'll tell you. He kidnapped me and disguised himself as me. This man hid the bomb in the building, though I have no idea why. I, along with everyone else, was saved by these two young kids. It was a boy and a girl," Albert looked crestfallen, glancing at the building. "I don't think they made it though."

"There you have it, folks," Kathy brought the attention back to herself, a frown adorned on her features too. "The supposed man who detonated the bomb is still on the run; police are trying to figure out his identity. Perhaps this man is connected to the manslaughter accident just off Route 370," Ronan tensed, and I glanced at him in confusion. He said nothing, merely keeping his eyes on the news. "Fortunately, no one was harmed except for the possible deaths of these two heroes. The authorities are searching for any remnants. This has been a tragedy for the state of California. We can only hope the string of bad luck ends here. Back to you, Chuck."

Ronan shut off the video before the news report could return to Chuck, the entire room going silent as monitors turned off one by one. Flooded by the silence, I turned to Ronan with an untelling expression.

"This is good, maybe?" I asked slowly.

"Somewhat. Our identities are safe for now, which is good, but the authorities aren't stupid. They'll start putting pieces together sooner or later. And now that they have the opportunity to figure out who Lachowski is, the Russian probably won't attack us any time soon and choose to lay low." Ronan squinted at the dark screen, looking a little lost in thought.

"So," I took a few steps forward so that I was standing right beside him. "What now?"

Ronan was silent for a few minutes, calculating his next moves. It was if the situation had evolved into a chess game, and were the pawns in the game. "I guess we do the only thing we can do."

"Which would be?"

He turned to me with a serious expression, "We find your father."

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Extra long chapter for you all. Sorry for the wait. Life is stressing me out. Comment, vote, promote. x

-Isabelle